


All in the details

by ineptshieldmaid



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: 19th Century, F/F, Genderswap, Lesbian Character, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Julia Watson introduces Holmes to one Miss Mary Morstan.</p><p>[always-a-girl sex- and genderswap of the Watson character]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in the details

“Miss Mary Morstan,” Holmes drawled. “What a pleasure.” He kissed her fingers, making the gesture with exaggerated attention. She laughed, almost a giggle, and flushed slightly. Holmes was surprised – she didn’t seem Watson’s type at all: prettily, thought not expensively, dressed, and evidently no stranger to flirtation.

Quite the opposite of Watson, Holmes reflected, as the girls took their seats. Watson, in her severely starched, almost mannish suit, looked far more the stern governess than Miss Morstan. And yet – there was something sharp in Miss Morstan’s eye, a stubborn set to her freckled features, that said he oughtn’t to cross her.

Or perhaps, he thought, as she gushed about detective novels, he ought.

“Isn’t it all a bit… _far-fetched_?” Miss Morstan asked, and there it was, that canny glimmer in her eye and a challenge in her tone.

“Not at all, my dear.” Holmes leaned back in his seat, the better to glance down his nose at her. “After all, it’s the little details that are most important. Details, dear lady, will tell you everything about a man.” He smiled a little and added, off-handedly, “or woman.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Watson was glaring at him, Holmes noticed. But then, she glared at him as soon as see him. “Take anyone here,” he spread his hands expansively. “Take -”

“Take Julia?” Miss Morstan asked, with a quirk of her eyebrow. Watson had the temerity to blush, good lord: the girl could inspect a naked corpse without a qualm, what business had she blushing at the dinner table?

“No,” Holmes said. “Take someone I don’t know. Like… you, Miss Morstan.” Miss Morstan most definitely did not blush, and Watson’s knuckles whitened on the stem of her wine glass.

“Holmes, really,” she said. “Must you?”

“Oh, no, I insist,” Miss Morstan said, with that almost-gigglish tone.

“The lady,” Holmes said, drawing the world out and staring Watson down, “insists.” Watson looked as if she were about to say something – most likely _insufferable egotist_ – but she subsided at a glance from her companion.

“You, Miss Morstan,” Holmes began, making a show of studying her carefully. He had, of course, already noticed a great deal about her, but no rational detective would pass up the opportunity for further observation. Dressed well, but not expensively; a faint smudge of ink under one ear: she worked as a governess. (She inclined her head in confirmation, her eyes laughing at him.)

“Your employers think well of you,” Holmes went on. “The woman you work for – she gave you these jewels.” He leaned over the table, almost touching the necklace where it lay on Miss Morstan’s breast (Watson’s fingers twitched on the table beside her, but the lady did not flinch). “A substantial gift,” he added, “quite beyond your station.” At that, both girls had the delicacy to look affronted.

“Your fingers,” Holmes announced next. Watson’s eyes went at once to Miss Morstan’s hands, but the subject kept them clasped and her gaze on his. Holmes acknowledged, albeit grudgingly, that he was impressed. “You keep your nails short – which would suggest you play the piano, save that you keep one hand shorter than the other.” Miss Morstan made no answer. “A personal oddity, then. You wear no ring, therefore you are not engaged. But you were: the lighter pigmentation where the ring lay suggests it was sunny where you were at the time – you were travelling.” The lady made no sign, but Watson’s face was easy enough to read. So far, so good. “But you left him,” Holmes went on. “Because, Miss Morstan, while travelling, you met your current employer, a woman to whom you are rather more than the governess of her child.”

Miss Morstan threw her glass of wine in his face. Well, well, Holmes was impressed.

“I didn’t leave him,” Miss Morstan hissed, standing up. “He died.” And she swept away from the table.

She did not, Holmes noted, refute the other accusation.

  



End file.
